


The Adventures (And misadventures) of John Constantine

by DemonsApothecary



Category: Constantine (2005)
Genre: Angst, Demons, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, John Constantine Needs A Hug, John Whump, Post-Canon, Scars, Suicidal Thoughts, Tattoos, crispy fried demon, sad john constantine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 03:43:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21331723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonsApothecary/pseuds/DemonsApothecary
Summary: book of oneshots and shorts based off the Constantine 2005. Contains angst
Relationships: John Constantine/Angela Dodson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Adventures (And misadventures) of John Constantine

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning

He was alone. Completely alone. Angela was away, back the next day from a work trip. Chas was dead, murdered by the demonic son of the devil. All of the people he could talk to, his friends, were dead. And I was all his fault.

He couldn't take it. He'd learnt to hold his emotions in. Be a blank slate, no chips or cracks. Demons can't toy with you that way. But he weight was piling up. The slate had fractures, slowly growing bigger. Spreading across the surface like shattering glass. Chas's funeral had been that week. That was the last straw. I was his fault he was dead. His fault the boys existence was cut short. His fault. His fault. His fault. 

There was a reason her wore long sleeved shirts. To hide the marks of the past. His tattoos, his tools for summoning Angels, cover the slit marks on his wrists. From when he took his old life at the age of 15. Though he was free now, his soul redeemed. God has allowed him passage into his house, but Lucifer wouldn't give up his prize so easily. He was dragged down, the cancer pulled from his lungs, his wounds healed. An extension,if you will. 

He felt the barrier he had so carefully made around his emotions, thick and strong, crumble like pie crust.  
"Fuck". He clenched his fist, needing a release from the torrent of emotions assaulting him. His thought wandered, to the recently fixed bathroom. That fresh pack, shiny and silver in the bottom draw. Perfect.

He walked to the bathroom, tossing his coat on the hanger. He rolled up his sleeves, all the way to his elbows. The sides of his forearms, inked with duel symbols of the Red King, are plae I contrast with the deep black ink. His skin pale, bare and fragile, seems to glow in the light. Thought the sides are tattooed, the rest of his forearm is bare and unmarked(for now). 

"All your fault". A voice whispers in the back of his mind.  
"Failure", whispered another. The blade was sharp, piercing the soft skin with ease. A thin shallow cut made it's way across the skin of his forearm, left to right. Blood beaded along the cut, dribbling onto the fabric of his trousers. Another cut. Shallow, only to cause pain. Another.  
___________________  
The car engine rumble as she pulled up infront of the bowling alley. It was dark, the sidewalk illuminated by the streetlights. Angel's trudged up the stairs, happy to be able to see her friend after a long drive. She trudged up the stairs, the familiar wood creaking underfoot.  
"John, it's Angels". She knocked on the door.  
____________________  
The knock resonated thought the house, slightly startling. He dropped the blade, hearing his friend calm his name. Shit, she wasnt supposed to be back till tomorrow.  
"Just a second". He wiped his bleeding arm on his pants, rolling down a buttoning his sleeves.  
"Suprise". She said, smiling at him as son as he opens the door.  
"Angela, I thought you wernt back till tomorrow". He let her in, closing the door behined her.  
"Yea I finished the case early, so i was allowed to go home. Much rather be here than that shitty hotel room. 

He folded his arms, hiding the blood sploted fabric.  
"How did the case go". The sat down at the table, John's arms still crossed.  
"I was good, quick and easy. Homicide, killer confessed the next day, quick trial". The stain on his shirt was slowly getting bigger, crimson against white. She studied him while she talked.  
"Hey are you OK, you look paler than usual". He snorted.  
"I'm always pale, even your tanner than I am". He shifted, arms pressed tighter to his chest.  
"Is something wrong John". He seems to freeze momentarily.  
"I'm a detective John, you can't fool me". He snorted again, wincing a little as it jostled his arms.  
"Now what would I have to hide from you?".  
"Well you are awfully stiff John. A you just winced for some unknown reason". The red had spread, peaking over the side of his arm. She saw. 

Reaching quickly across the table she grabbed his arm. He hissed through his teeth in pain.  
"Your bleeding John". He tried to yank his arm away, but she had a tight grip on his wrist. 

Most of the underside of his sleeves were red, permanently stained scarlet. She stood beside him, pulling up one of his sleeves.  
"John...". He looked down, not making eyes contact, face blank as a canvas. She knew he had tried to end his own life, but that was years ago. She never though......... never though it would get this bad. He was the strong one, the one with all the knowledge. He was the rock, strong and unyielding. He had helped her though hi sisters death. He had stuck with her in the search for her sisters reason.HE had been there when she was recovering from demon possession. Been her friend, her rock. But it seemed he was just good at hiding.


End file.
